A truer story has never been told, my friends. My kids are mostly past the toddler age, but I have an impeccable memory when it comes to the tantrums and trials and sheer insanity that is raising little ones. My youngest is now 4, which I'm not sure qualifies him for toddler-status anymore, but if he's not, somebody forgot to inform him of that fact. Cuz he loses his s*** daily over the most insignificant things imaginable.

For example:

* I crush up cornflakes and fry them in butter to put on the sour cream potatoes that I make for Thanksgiving. Well, Officer Lincoln of the Incorrect Use of Cereal Patrol just about lost his dang mind over the misuse of said corn flakes. Like truly about lost it. Like was screaming and yelling and crying, "THAT'S NOT WHAT YOU DO WITH CEREAL!!!" for a good 20 minutes. (Naked. Because he had just gotten out of a bath he didn't want to take. And wasn't about to put on clothes he didn't want to wear.) Poor innocent Audrina, who was simply trying to help by doing the crushing received quite the clawing, and scratching, and pinching. Police brutality at its worst, let me tell you.

* I thought when I finally had a little boy after 3 {lovely, but high maintenance} girls that I would save myself some of the daily drama that is getting-a-child-dressed. Nope. Lincoln may be the pickiest of ALL my children. He is picky about his pajamas. He is picky about his underwear. He is picky about his shoes. He is picky about socks. He is picky about EVERYTHING HE WEARS. And just because he refuses to wear something today does not mean that he won't be happy to wear it on Wednesday. Because there is no rhyme or reason to his pickiness. It has nothing to do with texture. Or style. Or color. He simply is unpredictably picky. And yes, I am bigger than him and can force clothes on him. But he will just take them off. And hide them. Sometimes in the trash can. And sometimes outside.

*In addition to being picky about clothes, my stubborn little 4-year old also seems to have an opinion on everything else. Hair gel, TV shows, how you set up his Memory game, what style of cup, plate, bowl, fork he uses, who gets to turn the light switches on and off. The list goes on and on. I hate giving into his every whim, and mostly I don't. Sometimes, though, I have no choice. Case in point: He didn't like where I parked the other day when I dropped him off at preschool. So he wouldn't get out of the car. So I pulled him out of the car. Then he wouldn't walk into the building. So I carried him into the building. Then he wouldn't walk down the hall. So I dragged him down the hall. Then he wouldn't go into his classroom. And at this point, he got underneath a chair outside of his classroom and held on to the legs and screamed and cried. So I picked him up off the ground, took him by the hand, and we went back down the hall, back outside, and back into the car. And I moved to a different parking spot. Because he had already made me incredibly late getting back to work, and I had no time left to dig deep into my bag of negotiating-with-terrorist techniques. And then he went into his classroom just fine. Because he is insane. Because what the heck kind of child cares about where the car is parked?? A 4-year old one apparently.

And why is it that children melt down over the smallest, most trivial things? I am trying to have some sympathy for the little guy cuz his dad has moved away for a while, and there are very few things in the world that he has control over, so if it makes him happy to wear the red Ninja turtle socks today instead of the ones he picked out last night, OK. Fine. No big deal right?

And I'm sure he (and all children) think that grown-ups have it made and get to make all the decisions and rule the world. Except guess what? They don't. It's the sad, sorry truth. And if I could go around screaming and tantruming over all of the little (and big) things that go wrong in any given day, I so totally would. I would cry and yell and pound my fists. {And probably kick a few people if I'm being perfectly honest.} But, alas, I cannot. And neither can any of us. And that's why I might enjoy being a toddler. Just for a day.

2 comments:

I think you next blog post should be titled, "What I could have lost my s*** over today, but didn't. 'Cause I'm awesome." And aren't 4-year-olds swell? Alexa has decided that it hurts her feelings when I make her go to bed.